Sam vs The Californian Summer (REWRITTEN)
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: There's something to be said about San Francisco. It could be the beaches, the skyscrapers, the wonderful weather - or the Triad. Alex, having left MI6 almost a year ago, is unprepared when the past comes back to haunt him. Even worse, he begins to think the Bartowski girl might be a spy. A certain CIA/NSA team-up might be after him, too, but now there's something worse brewing.
1. Chuck vs The Newcomer

**Welcome to the start of a new and improved fanfic! Third person, based around the episode Chuck vs. The Beard, and much more Chuck :D Sam will also have some significant changes to her character and the plot revamped.**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**All reviews are appreciated.**

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Chapter One

Chuck Vs. The Newcomer

Chuck Bartowski wasn't a big fan of airports.

There were a number of reasons for this, in no particular order: the traffic, Big Mike chewing him out for missing another shift of work, getting into an argument with Sarah that led to him making the trip to LAX on his own...needless to say, Chuck was not in a good mood that day, and expecting company was not making it any better.

It had been abrupt to say the least, but Chuck shouldn't have been surprised. It seemed as though he lived in a family of spies, and that proved no different with Clarice Bartowski, or Aunt Clary as Chuck knew her. He had his suspicions after learning his father hid under the alias of Orion – was his mother a spy? His aunt and uncle? Surely not the Awesome family as well...

Well, okay, not the Awesome family. Chuck sighed to himself and readjusted the sign he was carrying, with his cousin's name on it. He had no idea what she would look like, so he hoped she could read her own name when boarding off the plane.

Aunt Clary, an agent for the CIA, had remained dormant for the past ten years, until last week when General Beckman called for a mission in Budapest. Clary couldn't very well leave her daughter to stay alone in Montana in a tiny cabin in the Rockies, so she of course sent her to California to live with her next of kin. As far as he knew, said kid had no idea her mom was a spy. That seemed to be common in this family.

He waited patiently for the passengers to unload. Chuck doubted the Intersect would pick up on a teenage girl, so he took some pointers on profiling from Casey. If she's wearing a thick coat or sweater with a bulge around the waist or under the arm, she probably has a gun. If she walks as though there is a rock in her shoe, she probably has a knife strapped to her ankle. If she's carrying a briefcase or backpack, there's probably a bomb or disassembled sniper inside.

Chuck frowned to himself. Okay, maybe taking pointers from Casey was a bad idea.

He was less concerned about his cousin being a spy so much as what he was going to say to Sarah when he got back. How do you say sorry after an argument like _that_? In fact, Chuck wasn't sorry at all! He meant what he said, he said what he meant - he was going to stick to his guns on this one. Chuck didn't know how he could come to a compromise with Sarah.

On top of that, the recent break up with Hannah and apparent firing of his best-friend-relationship with his best friend Morgan Grimes had Chuck Bartowski at one of the lowest lows of his life.

He almost smiled to himself. Even if his cousin _did_ happen to be in the Intersect, he was in no emotional state to get it to work.

What a great time to be in a room full of assassins and not having a clue!

But Chuck realized he didn't have to worry about having a family member mistakenly trying to kill him because they work for a different country – because he was pretty sure the girl he was looking at never left this one. She was easy to pick out amongst the men in tuxedos and families carting toddlers, a lone teenager amongst groups.

He saw her hair first, then her shoes.

Thick, curly bush that hadn't seen a hairdresser in a couple years (maybe they were lacking such in the Rockies. Who knows?), looking unkempt as though she had spent most of the four hour flight sleeping. Then there were her lime green All Stars oxfords, an odd color for a shoe, and probably not very easy to find in Montana. The bright dye clashed with the rest of her clothing, relatively modest and worn, like jeans with ragged ends and a robust sweater that was a bit too small; stuff you'd expect a Montanan to own. Chuck tried to smile and not judge her taste in fashion at the same time.

She spotted him instantly after emerging from the crowd of disembarking passengers. Her face lit up with a big, toothy grin across her freckled cheeks and Chuck saw the family resemblance, like a smaller version of her mother. A smaller, much less refined version, to be exact. She wasn't carrying much, just a ratty carry-on that looked as though she used it to distract an angry bear while she ran the other way.

She waved and said as she got closer, "You're Chuck, right? I'm Samantha."

"Yeah, I know," He said, finally allowing himself to drop the sign. "I've been carrying it for the past half hour."

Samantha blinked at him, her smile faltering, eyebrows quirking up. She seemed bewildered by what he said, apparently trying to decide what he meant through both his choice of words as well as tone. It was a look Chuck knew well, particularly amongst bad guys with a bad sense of humor. She didn't have a good handle on sarcasm.

Huh. A teenager who didn't understand sarcasm. That had to be a first. Chuck had to assume it was a side effect of too much fresh mountain air and not enough cable TV. Morgan was going to love this!

Then Chuck remembered Morgan wasn't his best friend anymore.

Jeez, he just couldn't catch a break this week, could he?

Having officially signed off the day as_ Sucked_, Chuck was going to offer to carry Samantha's bag before she spotted something over his shoulder and gasped, "They have Cinnabons here!" and burst past Chuck while his hand was still out. The pastry stand had her completely enraptured, the cashier looking as bewildered as Chuck felt. Samantha had completely forgotten Chuck was even there.

Chuck closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. "Nice to meet you, too."

This was going to be a long day.


	2. Chuck vs the Bad Day

Chapter Two

Chuck vs. The Bad Day

Chuck had nothing personal against Samantha, or 'Sam' as she liked to be called. In fact, she said it three different times, apparently forgetting the last two in the span of ten minutes. She wandered from place to place, despite the numerous times he tried to get her outside and to the Nerd-mobile. It was as though she had never seen an airport before.

When Chuck couldn't move her from watching a fifteen minute take-off of a 747, he realized that maybe she hadn't.

He decided to let her look around for a while. While perusing a magazine rack filled with glossy paper and images of super-skinny people that only the rich could aspire to, Chuck tried fishing for information. "So, Sam, ever been outside of Montana?"

"Nope," Sam replied, not even looking up from the edition of _Teen Vogue_ she picked up. Not surprising, with the alluring high gloss cover and the pretty actress on the cover, demonstrating this season's latest trends. Sam didn't seem pleased with what she found. "Hey, this is just filled with advertisements! Aren't magazines supposed to have articles in them? You know, to read?"

"Welcome to California," Chuck said half-heartedly, leaning against the counter of the suitcase store. Sam flipped through another three magazines in under five minutes, apparently trying to absorb as much information about this new world of airports and shallow gossip rags could offer. This kid had a shorter attention span than Morgan, who Chuck knew could be persuaded using the Jedi Mind Trick. "Was it just you and your parents in Montana?"

He wanted to know about her dad, since that subject never came up. Why couldn't Sam just stay with _him_? Unless, of course, he was a spy, too. Sam didn't fail to fill him in as she darted to a stand full of key chains and California state souvenirs, "Me and Mom, actually. Dad left when I was little. They both go on a lot of business trips."

MIA Dad, too? Well, something else that ran in the family. Chuck wasn't sure to be relieved or disturbed that Aunt Clary had been able to cover her true vocation from her daughter, even after ten years. Did Samantha even question why she lived in isolation? "Yeah, mine too. You happy school's over?"

She only shook her head, her curly hair swinging back and forth like a tangled flag, running her finger though a line of key chains, observing the tinkling sound they made. "I'm homeschooled. Mom doesn't really believe in summer vacations. But I was really excited to come here. I've never seen the ocean before."

Ha, this was his moment of opportunity! "Well, if we leave now, you might get to see the sun set on the Pacific. How does that sound?"

Sam gifted him with a wide grin, something that probably didn't take much anyways. At least she seemed to have a good attitude, even if she couldn't concentrate very well. Home-schooling Sam must've been hell for her mother. "Awesome! Let's go!"

_Like taking candy from a baby_, Chuck smiled to himself, getting up and smoothing down his crisp white shirt. _Or, well, a teenager._

Chuck Bartowski was a man of refined elegance, or as refined as any Nerd Herder-turned-spy could be. Tall, dark, and handsome – the usual ingredients for a spy. Chuck could have been a regular James Bond if, you know, killing people didn't freak him out so much. Shooting a gun made him nervous, so he usually let Sarah or Casey – a big supporter for the second amendment – to take care of killing bad guys.

In fact, Chuck's skills were much better utilized as a sort of computer analyst. His specialty was computers, thanks to a degree from Stanford and five years at the Buy More. Chuck was practically an expert. And the Intersect didn't slack off, either. It picked up on more terrorist threats in the Los Angeles district than anywhere else in the world. It could have been because the City of Angels was just a hotspot for evil, but the more likely reason was that Chuck just seemed to be a natural magnet for danger.

Chuck considered it an accomplishment to have finally managed to get Sam in the car. As he started the engine, he noticed that Sam was already fidgeting in her seatbelt, craning her neck to see as far out of the window as possible. If Chuck hadn't known better, he would've thought she was memorizing all the different license plates in the parking lot.

He tried getting a conversation started with several failed starts. Sam never took her gaze from the window and kept blurting out questions about a building or structure she didn't recognize (which happened to be all of them). "What's that?"

"That's the mall."

"And that one?"

"Those are apartment buildings."

"Ooh, and those?"

"They're, um, Port-o-Johns."

"Cool," Sam grinned, apparently having no idea what they actually did, perhaps only liking the sound of their name. She blinked a couple times, turning towards Chuck with an incredibly tense look in her eyes. "Is it true there are alligators in the sewage system?"

"No!" That was the stuff of urban legend, something that people would talk about but few would listen to. Chuck realized just how clueless this kid was when he had to explain to her, in fine detail, how an alligator _could not_ survive underneath a city. "That's just a stupid myth people talk about to freak out their friends. If an alligator _did_ get in there, they'd probably die. Where did you hear that?"

"Some kids were talking about it on the plane," Sam shrugged, sitting back in her seat and looking out the windshield. She seemed disappointed with the revelation of a busted myth. "They live in California and they said they saw alligators all the time, crawling out of manholes and stuff. They sounded totally serious, too."

"How young were they?"

"About five or six."

"I don't think a couple of little kids are experts on the subject, Sam," Chuck told her in a strained tone. He wouldn't believe even if General Beckman told him. The fact that Sam ate this kind of stuff up meant that she probably spent her whole life in the mountains. Could she really have no idea? "The only things that live in the sewers are rats."

"Are they mutant rats?" Sam almost sounded hopeful.

"Nope, just your average, slimy brown rat." Chuck said, jumping off the freeway and onto a busy street to avoid the rush hour. So it was the long way around to Burbank, but at least he could shave off an hour waiting in the gridlock. "Did they tell you anything else?"

"No, they seemed pretty obsessed with alligators," she told him, staring at the muscle car next to them as it shook the Nerd mobile with its incredible bass. The driver was tapping to the beat like it was just a regular jazz tune. "Wow, is he deaf?"

"If he isn't, he will be," Chuck said, the noise setting his teeth on edge. He couldn't press the accelerator fast enough when the green light flicked on. It could have been the presence of the Intersect in his brain, but Chuck was quite sensitive to sound. Very loud situations could jumble his thought process and make it impossible to work efficiently. No wonder he felt so dazed on his first date with Sarah at the club. As if dealing with computer-stealing ninjas weren't bad enough, Chuck had suddenly stumbled into a scary action movie and he wasn't one of the characters who'd make it out alive.

Chuck had managed pretty well so far, if he did say so himself. Three years and not a single bullet wound, that had to be a record. He knew Casey wasn't as pleased, considering the guy had more battle scars than a crusty old pirate. And Sarah could take punches and torture without as much as a whimper. And Shaw was just the epitome of awesome.

Granted, Chuck didn't like Shaw as much as Sarah or even Casey, but the guy knew his stuff. Chuck respected him for that. No so much for killing every adversary he came across, but to each his own. Chuck was more a steal-the-suitcase-filled-with-top-secret-weapons- and-run-for-your-life kind of guy.

Chuck hadn't even realized Sam had been talking the entire time he was in his reverie until she finally asked him, "You know what I mean, right? Public bathrooms are so weird."

"Uh, right, yeah," he stuttered, shaking his head to clear it. _Focus, Chuck!_ The last thing he needed right now was to get into a car accident or make a bad impression for Sam. Chuck needn't have worried because she was off on another topic entirely, not really registering his input to the conversation. It was kind of one-sided, but Chuck didn't mind. He needed a break for his thoughts.

A part of him had been worried that Shaw might take advantage of Sam somehow when she finally arrived in Burbank. He certainly didn't find it a bad idea to abandon Ellie and Awesome and disappear for an entire weekend to stop a crazy Chinese nationalist. His sister still wanted to know what happened that night he missed the get-together with their doctor friends, but not even Shaw cared if they ever got a reasonable explanation or not.

Would Shaw use Sam to his own ends? Considering her parents and complete ignorance of what regular society is like, Chuck thought Sam might be a perfect recruit to brainwash and train into some ultra-dangerous killing machine. Sarah, after all, had told him she joined the CIA when she was barely out of high school. Sam had probably never even _seen_ a high school.

He couldn't imagine his cousin turning into another Sarah Walker. He shuddered at the thought.

What was it with the CIA recruiting kids with abnormal childhoods? Both of Chuck's parents mysteriously disappeared when he was barely ten years old, his father actually built the Intersect and his best friend Bryce Larkin from college had been making sure Chuck didn't get drafted too early. Sarah was raised to be a Little Miss Con-Artist with her father, lived like nomads across the United States, never knew what a real Christmas was like, and probably hasn't seen her mom in years. Casey was probably born a full-grown man with an AK-47 in his arms, for all Chuck knew. Casey's childhood seemed to be something the man kept from Chuck. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, anyways.

Would the CIA recruit kids even _younger_ than high school graduates? He never really knew how long Bryce Larkin was in, and Sarah already had a lot of training to start young. Chuck crossed his fingers that Sam's mom hadn't taught her daughter any skills the CIA thought they could utilize.

_Teenage spies aren't real_._ They only exist in movies._ Chuck tried very hard to convince himself, glancing at Sam every so often to remind himself how completely unprepared she'd be. She simply didn't have the potential. She kept herself perfectly distracted the entire ride, not once noticing his inattention while driving.

Chuck hadn't realized how tense he was until he finally came to a stop in front of a stucco apartment building in Echo Park. Just thinking about spies made him anxious, and he couldn't believe how stiff his legs were when he finally got out of the car. Sam was already making her way towards the gate by the time Chuck could stand up straight.

"Sam, wait –!" he yelled after before tripping on the edge of the sidewalk. He landed with a grunt and by the time he was back up and running for the courtyard fountain, he was too late.

At the very least, Chuck had hoped Sam would run into Ellie and Awesome, who would probably react less suspiciously to strangers than anyone in the CIA. Of course, this was not Chuck's lucky day. They were already at work, saving people's lives, and the only people left to run into Sam were the last two people he wanted her to meet.

Thankfully, Casey was off waxing his Crown Victoria, but Sarah had just walked out his apartment when Sam skidded onto the scene. Chuck arrived just in time to see Sarah reaching behind her, perhaps for the gun tucked in her waistline. She saw him shaking his head frantically while swiping his hands in the air, trying to communicate as quickly as possible that Sam wasn't a threat. Sarah relaxed and discreetly removed her hand from around the gun and gave Sam a perfect, brilliant smile.

"Hey, you must be Chuck's cousin," Sarah said, although Sam didn't seem to have heard her. The girl was poking at the lilies in the fountain, watching with an almost childlike glee as they glided across the rather greenish water. Still, Sarah was a spy trained in the art of social etiquette and having the unique gift of never looking awkward in public. At least, that's what Chuck thought. She held out a hand, "I'm Sarah."

This time Sam looked up, blinking at her for a second before a wide grin grew across her face. She didn't seem to realize the hand was being offered to her. "Are you Chuck's girlfriend?"

Sarah stared at her for a moment, dropping her hand, then flicked her gaze to Chuck, as if asking _How much did you tell her_? It looked somewhat accusing and Chuck just shrugged his shoulders in helplessness. He had no idea what was going on in Sam's head. He just met her.

"Uh, well, _actually_..." Sarah was about to correct their current relationship status but Sam interrupted her.

"Well, I figured you would be, because you're really pretty," Sam said, swinging back and forth on her feet like a little girl admiring a model. Then she stopped, the smile dropping off her face as if she realized something terrible. "Unless you're his sister, which, um...well, you don't really have a family resemblance, so I just thought..."

"No, it's fine, I'm not Chuck's sister," Sarah laughed. Chuck knew from experience that it was a genuine one, but there seemed to be something unsaid in her words. Like she meant to say _Thank goodness_ afterwards. Chuck frowned but didn't make to ruin the moment. "We're actually, um, dating at the moment. Yeah, nothing serious."

A twinge of pain in his chest made Chuck wince. He was wondering when Sarah would address their previous argument. He hadn't been expecting anything overt, because Sarah was better than that. He had to admit, she was good. Really good.

"Well!" Chuck finally decided he wanted in on this conversation before Sarah decided she wanted to exact her revenge on Chuck by turning Sam against him. He doubted she would do something so low, but with spies you can never tell. "How about we all go inside and, um, get you settled! Show you your room and stuff. How does that sound?"

Chuck felt like an idiot, hearing himself talk like a Kindergarten teacher to a teenage girl. But Sam reacted surprisingly well to it, so he wasn't sure if it was just all in his head. She nodded her head with a perky smile and walked right through the open door to his apartment. Not even waiting for someone to invite her inside. Chuck thought it was a little rude, but decided not to make a big deal out of it.

Even Sarah noticed it. They followed the girl inside as she took in the living room. First the couch, which she sat and bounced on experimentally, before darting to the shelves of games and video game consoles they had. She peered at them like they were alien artifacts from another planet. She kept asking "What's this?" and "What's that?" a game Chuck was all too familiar with now. As soon as she had the living room covered, she went to the kitchen, touching and testing anything she could find.

Chuck followed her around, not really sure what do to. Sarah kept to his side, whispering, "Is she...does she always do this?"

"How should I know?" Chuck shrugged, keeping his voice low as well, even though he doubted Sam would notice him. Even if she did, she seemed too distracted with everything else. "All she's known is a small cabin in Montana. This must be like Disney World for her."

"I've always wanted to know what it was like to meet someone who was hyper- observant," Sarah mused, watching with a smirk as Sam pulled out the large cutting knives one by one, testing the blades against her fingertips. Chuck had to intervene before she got too enthusiastic with testing them. "Do you think her mom sent medication?"

"Clary never said anything about this, so either she doesn't know or doesn't care." Chuck had to push Sam away from the knife rack, getting her interested in the refrigerator instead. That would keep her busy for a good ten minutes, at least. As he ducked back beside Sarah, he said, "And I don't think we should confuse hyper-sensitivity to stimuli for good old 'easily distracted.' She's got the attention span of a squirrel on caffeine."

"Well, I think it's kind of cute." Sarah smiled as Sam stared at a pineapple like she had no idea if it was supposed to be eaten or used as a bludgeon. "Like you said, a kid at Disney World for the first time. Imagine if you were sheltered for most of your life in the middle of nowhere, then brought to Los Angeles, California. How would _you_ react?"

"Okay, fine, point taken," Chuck admitted with a heavy sigh. Maybe this attention thing was just a passing phase until Sam got used to California and living like a normal teen. A dark pit in his gut told him he wasn't going to be that lucky. "But if she starts poking in the trash, I'm going to call Clary, then the health clinic. You mind keeping an eye on her? I have to get back to the Buy More before I lose my job."


	3. Sam vs The Neighbors

**Funny thing. As I was writing this chapter, I kept writing Ellie's name as 'Sarah' - after the name of her actress, and the same name as Sarah Walker. I didn't notice it until I was almost done and realized that 'Sarah' was not an nickname for 'Eleanor' and smacked myself in the head.**

**So yeah. This was originally going to have more than one POV, but that would just make the chapter titles confusing. For the entirety of this story, each chapter will keep to a single POV. That just makes things easier to remember.**

**Anyways, enjoy! All reviews are appreciated, thanks!**

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Chapter Three

Sam vs. The Neighbors

Sam decided she loved California. She knew this even before she landed.

For the longest time, pine trees and snow and a tiny log cabin were all she knew. The sun was familiar, but that was it. She didn't understand what the buildings here were made of – how would they last against the snow in the winter? But Mom told her that most of California didn't get a traditional, snowy winter like Montana did. Sam was sad for a little bit. Then she saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time and completely forgot about it.

Her mother had warned her, as she was getting on the plane, not to get lost or talk to strangers. It seemed stupid that a teenager wouldn't know this and had made Sam frustrated – she was young, not brain-dead. Didn't Mom trust her? What did she think would happen in LA, that Sam might accidentally join a gang? That she might get in the crossfire of a gunfight between the police and some drug dealers?

Whatever it was, Sam didn't realize that her mother's warnings might have been well-meaning, at least not until she landed in LAX and got to see the city for the first time.

Its sheer size daunted her, and Sam wondered how she was going to take it all in. All those streets and buildings...a labyrinth of streets and places, no rhyme or reason to the pattern, the structure unplanned. Did she have enough room in her head? Would it explode if she tried to remember it all?

She decided to talk it one baby step at a time. Chuck's apartment was a start – by the time Sam was done opening, closing, and touching everything, she knew the exact layout of the space. She had overheard Chuck and Sarah talking and wanted to apologize, but she couldn't get over what this strange fruit was. Greenish-yellow, with flattened spikes all around it, stored in the refrigerator. Did they eat it or use it to kill rodents?

Chuck had to leave soon after they arrived. That was too bad because Sam had a million questions she wanted to ask him. She didn't know enough about him to decide if she liked him or not, but she knew that he was confusing with his words. The way he said one thing yet seemed to mean another, as implied by his tone. Why did he do that? What did he really mean?

Sarah remained to watch over her. Sam never had a babysitter before but she already knew she didn't like it. She liked Sarah's blond hair and pretty clothes, intrigued by the strange bulge at her waistline. But the way Sarah always kept it out of sight, never turning her back on Sam had her thinking that maybe she wasn't supposed to know it was there. She decided to let it go – she didn't want to make Sarah angry by asking about things she didn't want to talk about.

Sam fought with that urge with incredible difficulty. Her curiosity was almost overwhelming; to the point she couldn't focus on anything else. She was glad Mom wasn't here, because Sam knew her mother would tell her to stop looking for answers to questions that didn't need to be asked. That's what she told Sam when she didn't stop asking, "Why? Why?"

Her mother tried to teach Sam how to focus, but it was too easy to get distracted here in LA. There were so many new sights and sounds that Sam couldn't figure out which one to pay attention to first. It all felt so important. And with everything moving so fast, all the cars and people and animals, Sam was already exhausted within the first couple hours in California.

"So, Sam," Sarah said with a light tone and friendly smile, as Sam tested the bounciness of the couch cushions. "How's your mother doing?"

"Fine, I think," Sam moved off the couch to reach for the series of remotes on the coffee table, pressing each button in turn. The TV went on and went through various channels, its volume on low until she muted it. "Over a hundred channels? Who needs that many?" She went back to the subject of her mother, since Sarah didn't seem mollified quite yet. "I...I didn't really know she had a job until...well, a few days ago. She didn't really say what it was – a business trip, maybe a promotion. Which is weird, because I haven't seen her gone to work in forever."

"It's probably an unpredictable workplace," Sarah replied, nodding as if she understood exactly what was going on. Sam wondered why she didn't look so confused as she felt, but then Sarah said, "What did you do in Montana? Anything interesting?"

This was starting to feel like an interrogation. Sam glanced at the woman before turning back to the TV. None of the channels held her interest for very long, so she turned it off and replied after a moment of thought. "Not really. Just hiking and stuff. I taught myself how to snowboard. Got bored of skiing."

"How long did it take you?"

"A couple months." Sam started to smile a little. "But winters in Montana last forever."

"I bet. I guess you've never been to the beach, huh?"

"I saw the ocean on the way here, but no, I haven't actually been there," Sam said, shaking her head. She didn't like being bombarded with all these questions by a woman she hardly knew, so decided to turn the conversation. "What about you? Where did you grow up?"

Sarah opened her mouth then closed it, the smile vanishing out of the sudden change in topic. Sam didn't know what the woman was expecting – that Sam was just going to answer all her questions, all give and no take? Sam briefly wondered if Sarah was a cop; it would explain how she always seemed to expect answers. "I'm...me and my family, we moved around a lot. For...jobs and stuff. I didn't really grow up in any _specific_ place, I guess you could say. I lived in...America."

"Really?" Now _that_ was a lifestyle that Sam could get into. Already her mind was filled with a bunch of new questions and she could barely spit them out in a comprehensible manner. "Where did you go? What states did you go to? What kind of jobs did your parents have that had them moving around so much? Was it fun? Did you have any siblings or where you just –?"

"Whoa, slow down!" Sarah leaned back, holding up both hands before Sam's mouth could get ahead of her brain. She laughed before Sam could feel more confusion about the situation. What she upset or amused by Sam's questions? "I don't think I can answer them as fast as you can ask them. I went all around the country: East Coast, West Coast, North, South, and the Heartland. Probably only ten states I haven't actually been in."

"Which one was your favorite?" Sam couldn't help herself.

"I'd say..." Sarah had to think about it for a moment, sliding down into an armchair to Sam's right. Sarah's gaze softened, going off in some indeterminable distance, and not necessarily speaking to Sam, she said, "Here. Here is the first place I could really call home."

"Because of Chuck, right?" Sam asked without thinking.

"Um," Sarah blinked, shaking her head as if Sam's voice had interrupted her private train of thought. She looked at the girl on the couch, her brow furrowing as if she didn't know what the question was or didn't know how to answer it. "Well...I guess. He's – He's a pretty big part of it, I suppose."

"How big?" Sam had to know.

Sarah's frown didn't lighten. She seemed a little annoyed now by Sam's unabashed blurting of questions. But the woman finally understood Sam's curiosity would only be quenched with answers, so she replied, "If he leaves, I leave."

Sarah's tone was curt, to the point, and implicitly ended the unwelcome questions. Sam was a little stunned and watched in silence as Sarah got to her feet and headed for the kitchen, her steps stiff and loud – a woman on a mission, having finally found a goal to occupy herself with. She opened the refrigerator and got out eggs, tomatoes, and some meat. Without waiting for Sam to ask another question, Sarah called, "I'm going to make dinner for Chuck's...date. Why don't you go across the courtyard and meet Ellie and Devon. They just got home five minutes ago."

Sam was happy to go – she was glad she wasn't the only one who noticed the loud engine in the distance, the sound of car doors being slammed and a happy couple through the window, walking out by the fountain into an apartment directly opposite of this one. Sam personally didn't mind, even though she wondered why Sarah seemed so unhappy, banging the pots and pans with unnecessary loudness. Perhaps she just liked making a lot of noise.

Going through the front door again, Sam noticed a flash of movement to her right. She looked over, on the alert at the sudden motion. Another person?

In the next window over, covered in dark Venetian blinds, Sam thought she saw a dark shadow move just out of sight. She squinted, waiting for it to happen again.

Ten seconds passed and nothing happened. Sam moved on, but not before catching something out of the corner of her eye.

A finger pushing two blinds apart and a pair of dark eyes appeared – following her across the courtyard. Sam decided that this was not a person she would not like to meet and pretended she hadn't noticed.

OoOoO

Sam was immediately engulfed in a giant bear-hug from a hunky blond man upon entering thing Awesome threshold. "Welcome to Los Angeles, Little Bartowski! This place is totally awesome. You're going to love it!"

She didn't know what to do, just froze and waited from the man to release her. He smelled nice, a fancy cologne, as well as lavender detergent from his shirt. Sam also smelled the aftershave, and the alcohol-chemical smell on his hands. A man who used hand sanitizer a lot. Was he a germaphobe? Clean-freak?

Sam's mother was a clean freak. She didn't like it when Sam left oily fingerprints on flat surfaces.

"Devon, you're freaking her out!" came a woman's voice somewhere inside the house. The man – Devon, Sam assumed – drew back immediately, a sheepish grin on his face as a brown-haired woman approached, clapping her hands to free the white flour from them. She patted Devon on the shoulder, telling Sam with an apologetic smile, "Sorry, he's a little bit on the touchy-feely side."

"No, it's fine," Sam replied, rubbing her arms and trying to ride herself of the multitude of smells that had remained after contact with Devon. She was dismayed when the woman came in for her own hug, but didn't know how to reject it, so let it happen. Another burst of smells filled Sam's nose and she tried to think past them. "Um, it's nice to meet you."

"Oh, jeez, I didn't even introduce myself!" she laughed, holding Sam back at arm's length, appraising the girl's appearance. She grinned, apparently liking what she saw. "I'm Ellie, your cousin. And Devon Woodcomb, the human teddy bear over here, is my husband. I'm assuming Chuck already told you about us?"

"A bit," Sam had to admit, Ellie did indeed look much like Chuck, so it wouldn't have been hard to guess upon first impression. She had been briefly worried she knocked on the wrong door and walked in on the wrong family. Sam sniffed the air, noticing a sweet scent that wasn't coming from either adult. "Are you...baking something?"

"Snickerdoodles!" Devon grinned, patting his stomach and closing his eyes at the very thought of eating those cookies. "My favorite!"

"Maybe a little too much," Ellie rolled her eyes, slapping her husband's chest playfully. She winked at Sam, as if sharing a secret that Sam was not privy to. Sam didn't know what it meant. "He'll eat the whole batch before they're done cooling. But you get to have the first one – I don't want _him_ ruining his dinner."

"Oh, come on, babe," Devon complained cheerfully, raising his hands in the air as Sarah shook her head and went back to the kitchen. "I'm just showing you how much I appreciate your cooking!"

"Yes, those extra five pounds really proved it!" she called back over her shoulder. "You, mister, need to cut back on those sweets. It doesn't fit your diet!"

"Ah, whatever," Devon chuckled, sticking his hands back into his pockets and shrugging as if their argument was no big deal. Then he seemed to realize Sam was still standing on the welcome mat and jumped, waving her inside, "Hey, don't wait on us! Make yourself at home. _Me casa es su casa!_"

"_Gracias_," Sam smiled, appreciating the Spanish. At least she didn't have to ask what _that_ meant. She had so many questions in her head, particularly about Ellie and Devon's behavior. They were arguing different points, yet did not seem angry with each other. What was that all about? She was still trying to figure out the winking thing. _What did it mean_?

But Mom had told her not to be rude with those kinds of questions. It was Sam's responsibility to adapt and learn on her own, not rely on others to tell her. So that was what Sam did.

She wandered inside, taking in the new apartment. It was similar in structure and shape to Chuck's, yet there were so many differences. The furnishing, especially, was of a different taste – no gaming consoles, no posters, no strange memorabilia. It looked...tame, soft, cozy.

Then Sam did what she had in Chuck's apartment. She saw, she touched, she memorized. It was easier to take in bits and pieces, getting familiar with the place the longer she walked around. She noticed Devon staring (Ellie had her back turned, facing the oven) as she combed over the area, and Sam assumed she was fine if he wasn't saying anything.

Because the only questions Sam had were the kind she wasn't allowed to ask, she had nothing else to say. She gathered from pictures and some ID tags on the counter that Ellie and Devon were doctors at the Westside Medical Center. Both doctors? She wondered how they'd met. Was that a question she was allowed to ask?

Sam went with it.

"We met in medical school," Ellie replied, grunting as she bent down to open the over door and retrieve the tray of cookies. She brought them back up and dropped them lightly on the counter, taking a metal spatula and flipping the cookies onto a rack. She slapped Devon's hand away when he leaned in to take one. "No, honey, they're still hot! You'll burn yourself. Anyways – we met in Anatomy class and we just...hit it off, I guess."

"A couple times we bumped into each other in the hallways." Devon said with a devilish grin, winking at Ellie. "Sometimes in the storage closet."

"Oh, stop it," Ellie rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "I swear, you can be so immature..."

Sam stared at them, uncomprehending. Was she annoyed or amused with Devon? What was the significance of a storage closet? What would they be doing in there?

They noticed her expression and Ellie flushed, then waved Sam over. Devon just shook his head and chuckled to himself, snatching a cookie before Ellie could stop him. It had to still be hot because then he yelped, throwing the cookie in the air almost immediately. He bounced it off his hands before it could hit the floor, before clutching the crumbled cookie to his chest, wincing.

Ellie watched the entire time, hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "Is it hot?"

"Sorry, babe," Devon grinned, taking a sheepish bite out of the cookie. He made a face as he burned his tongue, but put up a brave front and gave her two thumbs up. "They're _aweshome!_"

"Maybe you should go do some core workouts, hm?" Ellie smirked, pleased to see Devon a little humbled. "Before you hurt yourself with another cookie."

"Good idea. I'll get right on it." Devon couldn't leave the room fast enough.

"Does he always do that?" Sam asked as her cousin-in-law (was that a thing?) exited stage left. She didn't quite understand how they communicated, like saying one thing while apparently meaning another.

"Oh, he's just easily excitable. Trust me, Devon is _not_ the weirdest one you'll meet here." Ellie replied, handing Sam a cooled cookie. As she bit into it and savored her first taste of a snickerdoodle (sweet with a dash of cinnamon – Sam decided she liked it), Ellie just held up her arms and said, "This whole family is full of crazy. Welcome to Los Angeles!"


	4. Sarah vs the New Mission

**I've never written in Sarah's POV before, and found it very interesting. I like to think she has a conscience under her cold badass exterior, and I believe it shows here. **

**I've also decided that POV's will go in order of appearance, that I won't write about anyone who hasn't shown up in a previous chapter. I think it'll make it less confusing. **

**Anyways, enjoy! All reviews are appreciated :)**

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Chapter Four

Sarah vs. the New Mission

Turning the stove on with a slap of her hand, Sarah cursed herself under her breath. How could she be so unprofessional? Letting a girl get under her skin like that? That was a newbie's reaction. A mistake _Chuck_ would make.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair, closing her eyes and inhaling through her nose. _Keep it together, Walker._ But no matter how hard she tried, she could not get over the fight she had with her fake-boyfriend-real-spy Chuck Bartowski. It had started out simple enough, with a problem no one knew how to solve: Chuck's inability to Flash, the uselessness of the Intersect.

She had meant well. In fact, there was nothing more Sarah wanted than for Chuck to be okay, to be happy – at least enough for the Intersect to work. It coincided perfectly with her mission: Protect the Asset, and therefore the Intersect, at all costs.

This should be easy. Had Chuck been a _real_ spy, trained as she had, been through what she'd been through, they would not be having this problem. But there was nothing that could be done. Chuck was a civilian, first and foremost, and while he has saved the world on more than a few occasions, he wasn't necessarily a hardened spy.

Chuck couldn't make the sacrifices a real spy could make. He didn't understand just what kinds of things Sarah would have to go through to continue on their existence. He could keep his family; she couldn't. He can have friendships and relationships; not Sarah. Chuck could have the luxury of a home and a sense of normalcy; Sarah didn't have either of those.

Sarah wanted to punch something. She wanted to be in her apartment, not here covering Chuck's ass (again); just her hardest, coldest blows into the tough red punching bag. She wanted to feel the pain in her knuckles, the ache in her wrists, the throbbing in her arms.

But everything in Chuck's life was so fragile, including his house. Still, Sarah could not contain herself without doing _something..._so she grabbed a large knife from the rack and stabbed the slab of steak on the wooden cutting board.

Sarah immediately regretted the action when she heard a loud _Crack! _The blade had pierced through the wood and broken it in two. Great. Fantastic. Now she had to buy another one before someone asked why she snapped a cutting board in half. Chuck had it easy, fitting in this strange suburban community. He could walk through a crowd without getting a second glance– but wherever Sarah went, she got looks. Real stares.

The price of beauty. Something that may be nice if she were a normal woman, but as a spy, could draw attention when she wanted stealth.

Chopping up the meat with military precision, Sarah reached for the cabinet overhead and drew out the can of oil. Sometimes the attention was good, especially for distractions. But not when Sarah was supposed to be the frozen yogurt girl at Orange-Orange. How did a woman like her end up in a dead-end job like that? She had more credentials to her name than a graduate of Harvard or Yale.

It wasn't fair. Sarah knew this – she lived her life knowing this. But what right did Chuck have, backing out of the team like that without even _trying_? Sarah understood that overwhelming stress could really bring down someone, especially a person like Chuck, who didn't do well under tense situations. But he had no right to give up when she wasn't even given that option.

Sarah poured the oil into the hot pan, leaning away when the liquid popped and spat. However, Team Bartowski needed him. If Chuck was out of the game, then all of this effort was for nothing. The team disbanded, spies sent to different parts of the world to never see each other again, and Chuck kidnapped and locked up in an underground facility. Sarah didn't want Chuck to end up like that. And he wouldn't, if he would just _talk_ to her.

But no. Sarah dropped chunks of meat into the frying pan, the kitchen filling with the sound of sizzling steak. No fake-girlfriend-real-spy could suffice for his best friend, Morgan Grimes. But Sarah couldn't risk it. Shaw wouldn't even consider it. And Casey would probably kill both the Intersect and his bearded little friend if he ever found out the truth.

No. It was for Chuck's safety (and everyone he cared about), that his spy life stayed strictly separate from his normal life. Morgan could not know. His sister could not know. Not even his new girlfriend could get too close.

_Shit_. Sarah hissed and stuck her fingers into her mouth when she grabbed the hot pan handle without a cloth first. She went to the sink and stuck her hand under cool water, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She was acting rashly, not thinking straight.

Chuck was special. There was no denying it. But he wasn't making the kind of sacrifices she was making. He couldn't see the big picture here – if he didn't try to fix the Intersect, and _fast_, then life as he knew would be over. Sarah just wanted to help.

That's all she ever wanted to do.

Shutting off the water, Sarah dried her hand on a towel and returned to the cooking meat. She set another pot on the stove, filling it with several cups of water before getting fresh vegetables from the refrigerator. She checked her watch – damn, only an hour to go. Where the hell was Shaw?

Sarah would never admit it in his presence, but she kind of appreciated the agent. If Shaw had been the Intersect, the team wouldn't be experiencing these problems. Shaw didn't let his emotions take over, didn't let them rule his life. If something bothered him, he'd think with his head, not with his heart. He was a cold-blooded, straight-talking thinker and Sarah liked the efficiency he dealt with things. If only Chuck could take a page from Shaw's book.

But Chuck wore his heart on his sleeve. He despised Shaw, and didn't really try to hide it. Sarah was sort of impressed by the boldness; not even Casey had the guts to question a superior's judgment call, particularly one he respected. But respect was something neither Shaw nor Chuck had for each other. Sarah would honestly be surprised if that wasn't part of the problem.

Sarah would not compromise. Casey wouldn't. Shaw wouldn't. Beckman sure as hell wouldn't. Why should she give Chuck more leniency than the rest?

_He_ should suck it up. If not, then _tell her_ what was wrong. Better Sarah than Casey, who would tease and maybe slap Chuck if he ever showed an ounce of emotion or tenderness. She would understand – or try to – and when he finally just let the floodgates open, everything would be fine. At least Shaw wouldn't be bugging her trying to find an answer.

The water started to boil and she scooped the vegetables from its Styrofoam platter into the pot. Behind her, she heard the front door open and close. Begging God that this wasn't Sam, back again after sniffing out and touching everything in the Awesome's apartment, she steeled her nerves and turned around.

"Got the dessert," Shaw raised an arm holding a plastic bag, smirk on his face. He looked surprisingly normal in a blue shirt and jeans. It was a deviation from the usual black leather that always made him look so imposing and cold.

Sarah smiled back, pleased to see that he had everything else she needed to create Chuck's special dinner. She didn't like having to set up a scene that didn't involve killing Russian assassins – this one didn't even involve sedatives or interrogation – but Chuck needed to maintain a normal social life and she kind of owed him one for the last mission.

As Shaw began setting up the table, he asked, "Is that girl here already? I thought I saw someone in Devon's apartment."

"She arrived this morning," Sarah reported, flipping over the pieces of meat with a spatula. The raw sides sizzled while she inspected the cooked belly, deciding them to be edible once finished. "Single bag, passport, but no other IDs. Spent most of the time asking questions and taking in the apartment – she shows signs of hyper-vigilance, although Chuck believes it's just ADHD."

"Same difference," came his reply behind her. If there was one thing Shaw could do without fail, it was having a clinical indifference to the world around him. An objective outlook of a spy that Sarah liked after having Chuck's moral issues often getting in the way, or Casey's bellicose nature risking their covers getting blown. "I assume she's not on medication?"

"Not as far as I can tell, and Special Agent Cressey didn't say anything about it in her debriefing," Sarah cited one of Clarice Bartowski's multiple identities, Dahlia Cressey, the cover she often used when masquerading as a civilian in remote areas. She had been off-duty long enough that secrecy would be relatively easy in Prague. "She seemed adamant, though, that Sam shouldn't be forced into anything right away. Cressey didn't really have a chance to...toughen the girl up, if you know what I mean."

"That's her fault." Shaw said, apparently not daunted in the least bit that Sam was as capable of killing a person as Chuck was. "Cressey knew her job was to start her off young, and now it's on her if Sam suffers the repercussions of a conscience. It doesn't take that long to turn a spy – how long did it take you?"

"Six months, seventeen days," Sarah replied automatically, then paused, wondering why she had kept count. She had barely completed training before getting her first assignment to off an enemy agent. It was scary work, but she didn't shoot anyone. The man had been hiding under the guise of an art critic, and all it took was one poisoned spoon of caviar to drop the guy. It didn't even feel real to her. All Sarah had to do was taint the stuff and watch from afar. Detached, fascinated. She didn't actually get to shoot someone until her Red Test. "But I was out of high school by then. Sam is barely in it."

"The younger the better," Shaw shrugged, placing the glassware with delicate care on the table mats. For a spy who'd probably killed men with his bare hands, it was strange watching him move so cautiously with brittle things. "We don't want her to turn out like Chuck."

"Right, of course," Sarah didn't sound so sure this time. She wasn't exactly excited to join the CIA when they asked, and as a teenager the journey had been that much more daunting. She doubted someone like Chuck could survive such an ordeal. Sam may not have seen much, but Sarah quietly wondered if turning Sam into a spy like Shaw would be such a good idea. "She'll be fine."

"Relax, Sarah," Shaw noticed her uneasiness and when she looked at him, he gave her a reassuring smile. Shaw held his arms out wide, like he was announcing great news. "We'll turn her into the perfect spy."

Sarah smiled, but it felt forced. She didn't say anything else, but her stomach wouldn't set right inside her, and for the rest of the evening she felt a little sick. Getting a teenage girl to kill a man before her sixteenth birthday was not something Sarah was looking forward to.


	5. Sam vs The Dinner

**I've been trying to figure out how dark/light I want this story to be. I mean, both Chuck and Alex Rider are in the spy genre, but if the readers have seen both, then you know they come in two very different flavors. Chuck is kind of a comedy/parody of spy drama, particularly James Bond, and while it has elements of drama that give it emotional weight, the series as a whole is, in a word, fun. Alex Rider, on the other hand, is like the Dark Knight – gritty, dark, and a genre-specific dose of realism that makes it really hard to see how or why anyone would actually want to BE a spy (with some gallows humor mixed in, just to shake things up). So I think you can understand my dilemma about how to write this story, and I've been trying to figure out the right path to go – the other version is much more in line with Chuck, but I feel it wasn't that serious in nature. **

** And I've come through with a solution: I was watching Mission: Impossible Ghost Protocol when I thought: hmm, some humor, some drama, but not too much of either. It was fun but had its dark scenes, too, and I think it'll be the tone this story will try to follow.**

**Anyways, read and review :)**

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Chapter Five

Sam vs. the Dinner

Sam stared at her room, trying to imagine living there for the next three months. It was just so _big..._

The twin bed was placed next to the door, facing the window on the other side. After taking in the rest of Chuck's of apartment, Sam knew this was the smallest bedroom – what did Sarah call it? A guest bedroom? She was a guest in this house. She dropped her back beside the table and looked out the window, wishing she could see the ocean.

That would be her top priority tomorrow: see the ocean. Smell it. Swim in it. What would it feel like? What would it taste like? There was so much she wanted to know.

She could already smell dinner being cooked. It was almost done – the table had been set with six place-mats for six people. Sam assumed she would be one of the diners, as well as Chuck and Sarah, but she wasn't sure about the rest. Ellie and Devon (or Captain Awesome, as he preferred to be called) would probably fill up two, but then who was the last person? She hadn't met anyone else. She hoped it wouldn't be the owner to the pair of eyes she saw in the window.

Sam unpacked her backpack. She hadn't taken much with her, just what her mother deemed essential to survival. Sam wasn't too bothered that she hadn't been able to take more with her – she was sure there was plenty to find in California to fill up all the empty space on her shelves and tabletops.

She hadn't overseen the packing of her bag, but what she found inside didn't surprise her. First, a map of the United States. Well, she already knew the fifty states and their location by heart, so it felt superfluous to have – until she decided that the many cities and towns _within_ the States weren't as well memorized and decided that maybe keeping it would be for the best. There was also her passport, which Sam already knew about. No stamps, no locations, just her picture, physical description, name, and birth date. There was a wallet with several different denominations of cash inside, mostly US dollars and Euros; she wasn't sure why she even had Euros, would anyone here take them? It seemed unnecessary – her mother would, under no circumstances, would ever let Sam leave the States without her permission first.

Her mother never liked credit or debit cards, so those were noticeably lacking. Of course, she had packed Sam's trusty butterfly knife, a gift for her thirteenth birthday when her mother finally considered her an official teenager (Sam had been pressing the topic since she turned eleven). Sam felt better wearing it, in a thin slot she had sewn into the inside of her shoe.

But there were a scatter of items Sam _didn't_ expect to find in her bag. One: her mother's silver ring. It wasn't any of her nice ones, the ones with gemstones that sparkled in the light – just a simple ring designed in a Celtic knot. Sam had never seen her mother wear it but she knew that it was one of the several she kept locked away; the kind that Sam wasn't allowed to touch.

Sam smiled to herself, slipping the ring on her right middle finger, the only one large enough to fit. She never owned any jewelry (it didn't mean much when you lived in a small cabin in the mountains), and was glad to have something personal of her mother's. She never thought her mother would give her anything personal.

The second item was a little stranger: a lighter. Sam frowned when she flicked it on, watching the flame in a moment of contemplation. She only kept lighters to build fires, but California seemed to be perfectly fine with reliable electricity. It was an odd thing to pack, especially since there was no accompanying axe to cut down trees with.

But the third item, as well as the strangest, was a tube of lipstick. Sam stared at the alien object, not even sure where her mother had gotten it. Jewelry was a luxury – make-up even more so, and definitely not something her mother would own. She wasn't that kind of lady. But the fact that she put a tube of fuchsia pink lipstick had to mean she expected _something_ would happen in California. Right?

Weird.

Sam threw the rest of her things back in her bag. She didn't know where else to put them. The wallet she placed on her bedside table – If Sarah really meant it, and they _did_ go out together tomorrow, maybe Sam could seize the opportunity and buy some clothes. It was a little too hot to wear the same jeans all the time, anyways.

Back downstairs, Sam helped Sarah put the food on the table (neither Chuck nor the mystery guest was here yet). She looked forward to the meal – mostly because she was really hungry and just wanted to listen to the others talk.

Yet, as she sat down and waited for the others to arrive, Sam couldn't help but notice Sarah continuing to become more and more anxious. When Sam asked about it, Sarah said, "Oh, nothing," which Sam decided was odd since Sarah was being so erratic. Constantly running her hands through her hair and checking her cell phone, Sam wondered what had the woman so clearly not okay.

She waited, mouth watering at the smell of food. Sam kept itching to reach over and help herself to some vegetables and steak, but the look Sarah threw her when she dared to raise a hand to feed herself quickly discouraged any attempt to do so. Sam slumped her shoulders, hands falling back into her lap. She was so _hungry_...

Eventually, Ellie and Devon arrived. Sarah's once erratic demeanor immediately switched for one of jovial friendliness that sent Sam into such a spin she wasn't sure what just happened. Sarah, partaking in small chat and laughter, made the girl wonder just what was going on. Why did she not let the couple let on to her nervousness? Was there something she was trying to hide from them?

They joined her at the table, still smiling and talking. It wasn't particularly interesting, at least to Sam. It was mostly about work and Sam already knew they worked at the hospital: Devon was a heart surgeon, Ellie a brain doctor. They talked of various human biology that Sam didn't understand and she found herself getting bored.

So Sam blurted, "Who's the last person?"

"What?" the other adults stopped talking at the same time, turning to her with looks of mild surprise. Sam had interrupted them in the middle of the conversation but she didn't see what the problem was – it was boring, anyways.

"The last guest," Sam pointed at the empty spots on the table, first one, then the other. "I know Chuck is going to show up, but who's the other person? I don't know anyone else here."

"That would be Chuck's girlfriend," Sarah gave her a tight-lipped smile. It didn't reach her cold eyes. "Hannah. She works with Chuck at the Buy More."

"It's really sweet," Ellie added with a larger grin, looking towards Devon with a twinkle in her eyes. "Isn't it? They work on the same jobs together, see each other every day. You know, I haven't actually seen them fight before."

"Good on Chuck for getting back on the horse, I thought he'd never get over his last break-up" Devon nodded in approval. Then he glanced at Sarah, whose smile faded, and hunched his shoulders and quickly changed the subject, "Anyways, this looks great, Sarah! I can't wait to dig in. Yum!"

Sam stared, wondering why Devon suddenly looked so awkward and uncomfortable. In fact, everyone had become this way. What had he said? Did it have to do with Chuck's previous break-up he mentioned? Sam scowled at her plate. She didn't like not knowing anything.

Right on cue, the door opened, diffusing the quiet moment. Everyone turned around and smiled at the incoming visitors: Chuck and a girl with golden-brown hair and pretty eyes. Sam made herself smile as well, since everyone else was doing it. This woman had to be Hannah. The fact that she was holding hands with Chuck seemed to cement the point.

"Hey, everyone, sorry we're late!" Chuck waved at the dinner table, ushering Hannah inside, who quietly thanked him. His gaze fell on Sarah in particularly and his smile faltered, "Oh, um, h-hi, Sarah...I didn't know you were going to be joining us, ah ha-ha."

Hannah threw him a questioning look, her own pleasant face turning downwards at the mention of the blond woman sitting across from Sam. Why did they look so displeased to have her here? Sam didn't think that was fair. Did they not like eating with cops? She didn't know what else it could be.

But Ellie and Devon played along, jumping in when Sarah didn't reply immediately. Ellie waved her hand in the air, as if it were no big deal, and said, "I – I think its fine, Chuck. I mean, after all, she _did_ make this excellent looking dinner! I think it's only fair for her to join us!"

Chuck seemed to ease a little but Hannah continued to look tense. She threw another look at her boyfriend and asked in a lowered tone, "Chuck, can we talk in private, please?"

Sam heard her fine. It appeared as though everyone else at the table understood what was going on just as well, seeing as they turned back to their plates when the couple ducked into a corner, heads close together and talking in rapid whispers. While Devon tried to resuscitate the conversation about the latest celebrity scandal, Sam tried to eavesdrop on Hannah and Chuck's conversation...

"_What's _she_ doing here_?" Hannah hissed, sounding accusatory.

"_I-I don't know, I don't know, she's just..._" out of the corner of her eye, Sam could see Chuck shrugging and wringing his hands in helplessness. He didn't know how to explain the situation to his very confused and annoyed girlfriend. "_...here, for some reason_."

"_Does she live with you or something?_" Hannah demanded, jabbing a surprisingly unsubtle finger in the direction of the table. Sam glanced at Sarah and noticed the woman had flinched ever so slightly at the movement. She was listening in as well. "_I mean, she _cooked_ this dinner. She has access to your apartment. Are you still living with her, Chuck? Is there something going on that you're not telling me?_"

Was Sarah living here? Sam studied her fork, still waiting her chance to eat. She examined her warped reflection in the metal. There didn't seem to be much of a presence of her in any of the other bedrooms – no personal belongings that seemed to be owned by a woman. If she wasn't related to Chuck and wasn't dating him, why was she here? As a part of her job? Did her cop duties have her watching Chuck for some reason? Was he a suspect in a case or an informant? Sam didn't watch enough cop dramas to know.

"_What? No, no, there is _nothing_ going on between us, that-that is a definite fact_," Chuck raised a finger, confidence returning to his whisper. Sam turned her head ever so slightly to get a better hearing. "_Trust me, whatever that's left is gone now. She's just here because of...because, well, because she's a good cook and I didn't have time to make dinner. That's it, that's all, I promise."_

Hannah didn't sound entirely convinced, but it seemed good enough to end the private conversation. "_Hmm, all right, if you say so. But if she gives you _one _look..._"

A few seconds later, the last two seats were occupied by the couple, both grinning to the rest of the table. Sam was so caught up in their conversation that their sudden move made her jump. Sarah sat back a little straighter too, her face straining a smile. Chuck said, "Sorry about that, guys, just had some...um, things to work out, that's all."

"Just needed something cleared up," Hannah added her smile sweet, but when she looked at Sarah, her gaze turned to stone. "But it's over now. So, what's for dinner?"

As servings were passed around, the dinner fell into a strange dance between forced politeness and the Awesomes' attempts at making decent conversation. Sam got to introduce herself to Hannah, who seemed surprised but nonetheless welcoming to the idea of a cousin she had never heard of before. The woman smelled of a rich perfume – like rose and spices. Her hand was cold and soft when Sam shook it. Her clothes were clean and her shoes were a lot higher in the back than the front. They narrowed down to points. Sam wondered why Hannah wore them – did they hurt?

Sam had to answer a few questions, something that was getting a little easier now since they seemed to be the same ones each time, just phrased a little differently. Where are you from? Why are you here? Where did you go to school? How's summer been? Are you having a good time?

It was starting to dawn on Sam that maybe these were the kinds of questions people were required to ask others. She didn't know why – to show to each other that they were nice people, that they cared on some level? Or was it just polite, just assigned protocol, and after that's been done, the conversation could move on to more important topics.

It seemed to be the last one, since very few questions were lodged Sam's way again after that. She didn't mind – she preferred listening, learning, trying to find out everything she could about everyone's past. For whatever reason, she could sense tension and animosity between Sarah and Hannah, with some in-between from Chuck, who kept glancing back and forth like he expected a fight to break out.

Sam didn't understand why Sarah was here. She didn't look happy, either, so why didn't she just leave? It kept bugging Sam until she finally had to say, "Sarah, why are you here?"

Again, Sam had said it in the middle of the conversation. Again, everyone looked at her with raised eyebrows. Sam didn't understand why. It was an honest question.

"Uh, honey," Ellie laughed a little nervously, extending a hand to touch Sam's own, pulling her attention away from Sarah's face for a moment. Ellie looked a little red, as if embarrassed by what Sam said. Why? Ellie hadn't done anything. Was she upset by what Sam said? "You can't just ask people why –"

"No, it's all right," Sarah abruptly stood up, dropping her napkin on top of her mostly uneaten food. She didn't look anyone in the eye when she said, "I have to go to the bathroom. I'm just not feeling very well today."

"Oh, all right," Ellie withdrew her hand, giving Sarah a look of worry, as if she sensed something more was wrong than just health. Sam stuck her hands beneath the table, suddenly aware that this might be her fault and now more people were unhappy. She didn't know how to solve the situation so decided to keep her head down and finish her meal.

"Uh, uh," Chuck hovered for a moment in his chair, watching as Sarah disappeared down the hall, clearly uncertain about what he should do. Hannah frowned at him as he stood up completely and said, "Uh, I'm going – I'm going to go check something, excuse me for a moment..."

"Chuck, you shouldn't..." Hannah raised a hand but he was already gone, following Sarah around the corner. She dropped her hand, letting it bounce off the table. Huffing, she noticed everyone else watching and quirked a smile, "Does he...is he always so easily distracted?"

"Yes," Ellie and Devon looked at each other and nodded in unison.

Hannah turned to Sam, shaking her head. "You're probably as confused as I am, right, Sam?"

"Uh, sure," Sam nodded, wondering why Hannah was asking _her_, since neither Ellie nor Devon had much of an idea, either. She wanted to listen to what Chuck and Sarah were saying; she could hear their low murmurs somewhere in the house, too faint to decipher. With Hannah talking directly at her, Sam couldn't focus on both sounds at once. "But I just got here. I don't really know...what's going on...Do you hate Sarah?"

Hannah jerked back at the question, her eyebrows shooting up. She glanced at the other two, her mouth open in a moment of surprise, apparently waiting for an explanation for the unabashed question. Devon just shrugged and Hannah looked back to Sam, a shaky smile on her face. "Uh, no, of course not. What would give you that idea?"

"Because you don't want her here," Sam said without hesitation, not sure why Hannah was pretending her little conversation with Chuck never happened. "That's why you were arguing with Chuck earlier."

"I wasn't argu –" Hannah stopped herself and just shook head, closing her eyes and laughing to herself. She raised her hands and sat back in her seat, saying, "Oh, I see what's going on here. You know what, clearly we're not ready for this. I need some air. If Chuck comes back, tell him I'm outside."

"Hannah, wait!" Ellie jumped out of her chair as Hannah made a beeline for the door. She tried to convince Hannah to stay, speaking at the same time as Devon, who was trying to tell her to give it a rest. The table rocked from the sudden jolt in movement and everything was thrown off center. Sam grabbed her plate before it could fall to the floor.

Everyone left the table, leaving Sam remaining. Ellie, Devon, and Hannah disappeared out the door, Chuck and Sarah still talking to each other somewhere. Sam looked at the rest of her meal, licking her lips and trying to sum up the will to eat the rest of it. But she had suddenly lost her appetite. Somehow, with just a simple question, Sam just made the problem worse and now no one wanted to eat anymore.

Eventually, after deciding that no one was coming back to finish the meal, Sam got up and headed towards her room, passing Chuck and Sarah on the way. They fell silent as soon as she arrived and started up again just as she closed the door to her room. She sighed, the urge to listen fighting with her urge to leave things be. She stood there by the door, trying to decide before she closed her eyes and accepted the situation.

The jet lag had finally caught up with her and Sam felt exhausted. She decided she was done with California for the day and just wanted to go to bed and get some sleep.


	6. Chuck vs The Lost Date

**A lot of you have been asking when Alex is going to show up, so I'm going to say this right now: it won't be for another couple chapters. Right now, we're in Los Angeles. He's still in San Francisco. It'll be at least 3 chapters before he shows up, but I promise it won't be any more than that.**

** And yes, fanof books (Guest), Sam is an OC. I understand that some of you who are reading this haven't seen Chuck, and while I recommend it to fully understand what's going on, it's completely up to you. Anyways, enjoy!**

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Chapter Six

Chuck vs. the Lost Date

"What are you doing here?" Chuck asked in a hiss, running a hand through his hair. He knew it was a bad idea to leave his girlfriend alone with his family and probably thinking this looked like something he didn't want it to look like. It was hard enough trying to explain it the first time, but he wasn't sure what he would have to say once he got back. "I didn't know you were going to stay!"

"It's part of my mission, Chuck," Sarah snapped back, glaring at him through drawn brows. Granted, Hannah hadn't kept it a secret that she didn't welcome Chuck's old girlfriend at the dinner specifically cooked so she could meet the family, but still. "Shaw assigned me to supervise the asset, to evaluate her skills and judge how ready she is to be assimilated into the CIA."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Chuck waved his hands in the air, shaking his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, not quite believing his ears. "Are you saying the CIA – _General Beckman_ is consigning a freaking _teenager_ to be a spy. Isn't that what they did with you?"

"She never said we had to like it," Sarah looked away, frowning when he mentioned her case. Honestly, Chuck wasn't sure how Sarah felt about joining the CIA when she was just out of high school (from the wonderful ten year reunion they had, Chuck assumed boot camp was a walk in the park for Sarah compared to hypercritical teenagers). "And if it means anything, I don't, but it's not for us to decide. And besides, it won't be for while before anything happens. I still have to assess her skills in various situations – social, martial, the basics. I'm pretty sure she's trained in at least _one_ martial art (Agent Cressey would be crazy not to), but it's her ability to react in tense situations that bothers me. I don't know what her temperament is."

"Yeah, because when it comes to teenagers, they have a tendency to _not_ overreact," Chuck replied, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. He didn't know if he could convince Sarah, never mind Beckman, to leave his cousin alone, at least until she was old enough to vote. "Have you seen her? She's never been in a school, she's never met anyone else her own age. How do you _think_ she's going to react? She'll completely snap."

Sarah huffed, glaring at him. "You don't know that, Chuck. Give Agent Cressey some credit, she knew what she was doing when she raised Sam. She's the reason why I'm here right now – not you, not Hannah, so get over it. This isn't about you, okay?"

It might have been true, but that didn't make Chuck feel better. It also didn't help him find a decent excuse to give to Hannah about Sarah's place at the dinner. He was glad the dark hallway hid some of his frustration. Chuck hated it when everyone else could read his emotions. He was like an open book and sometimes he tried for subtlety. "Fine. But that doesn't help me with Hannah. What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Look, I'm sorry this ruined your make-up date, but the mission has to come first," Sarah's expression softened to something of sympathy, maybe even regret. Had this been anyone else, say Casey or Shaw, Chuck would get no sense of apology at all. "But I promise I'll stay out of your way tomorrow. I'll take Sam out so you won't have any more problems and I can observe her without interrupting your social life."

She said 'social life' the same way she said 'emotions', like it were something unnecessary and cumbersome. Chuck watched her, wondering if Sarah was trying to imply something. He imagined she would still be a little angry with Hannah, but maybe she just didn't appreciate a regular life. Life as a spy could do that to you.

There was a commotion behind them in the dining room, and they both turned their heads to listen in. Not surprisingly, it seemed as though Sam had asked yet another blunt question, apparently uninhibited by regular social conventions. Chuck wanted to intervene before she rendered critical damage, but Sarah grabbed his arm and pulled him back, "Wait, Chuck, we're not finished yet."

"Oh, god, what is it?" Chuck didn't want to hang around and talk about this anymore. He had a bad feeling Hannah was going to give him a hard time once he got back. "Look, I get it, I'm not in control, I should stop complaining, what _else_ do you _want_?"

Okay, Chuck might have said that a little meaner than he meant to. Sarah drew her hand back and for a second he thought he saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes. It was gone before he could be sure. Sarah's jaw clenched and she pressed her lips into a thin line. "Just wanted to tell you a good job with the inside job the other day. Casey was actually proud of you."

"Oh, um, thanks," Chuck flushed, embarrassed he had assumed Sarah would only continue with the Chuck-bashing. He had to admit, pulling out a tooth from the jaw of a man who would kill him with a single look – even scarier than defusing a live bomb.

Sam suddenly appeared around the corner, staring at them for a second before darting around. They immediately stopped talking, averting their gaze to her unblinking one. Chuck wondered how much she had heard, if Sam had been eavesdropping. He wouldn't put it beyond a hyper-vigilant, nosy teenager. They should go right now before she picked up on anything else. But even as Sam dodged into her room and closed the door, Chuck turned back to Sarah and spoke anyways, "What are you planning to do tomorrow?"

"We'll go to the boardwalk," Sarah shrugged, relaxing ever so slightly at the disappearance of his cousin. She seemed more at ease with the question; Chuck was no longer arguing the fact. At least he could trust Sarah to keep Sam safe. "Walk around, talk. I promise, nothing will happen."

"I believe you," Chuck nodded after a moment, then pointed a finger in the direction Sam just came from. "Well, I have to go check on my date and make sure she doesn't hate me. I'm hoping this didn't turn out as bad as the dinner with her parents."

Sarah didn't look particularly concerned with whether or not Hannah was pissed or not. All things considered, she was a liability – it would've been easier if Chuck pretended to be dating Sarah, all personal feelings aside, but Chuck needed a break from the spy life, wherever he could find it. Hannah was perfect, and she was refreshing in every way possible. Although she came a bit too close to the truth on several occasions (getting locked in an airtight museum room and almost suffocating to death definitely wasn't a highlight to their experience), Hannah was still very much one of the last people in Chuck's life who were normal.

When he reentered the living room, he was alarmed to discover no one was there anymore, and most of the food was off-center – probably what that loud banging was about. Sarah appeared behind him, saying, "They probably went outside. I think Sam upset your girlfriend."

"Not a surprise," Chuck grumbled under his breath. He decided he was going to give a few pointers to his cousin before she met anyone else important to his social life, in case she accidentally got him fired or something. He headed out the door, where Hannah was pulling away from a pleading Ellie and Devon, who were doing their best to convince her that Chuck wasn't a total moron. "Time for damage control."

She was already out the courtyard when Chuck finally managed to catch up with her. "Hannah, wait!"

"No, Chuck!" Hannah whipped around, jabbing her car keys at him. Chuck skidded to a stop, raising his hands as she scowled, then dropped her impromptu weapon. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. I just – I just can't take this anymore. You're a great guy, Chuck, but with you, it's like I'm on a rollercoaster with blindfolds on. I don't know where this is going and every rise and fall I feel sick and weird inside. I just don't feel comfortable and I think it's best if we just stop, okay?"

"But-but," Chuck stuttered, feeling his stomach drop somewhere down to his feet as a tiny lump started to grow in his throat. "I tried...I wanted to show you –"

"I appreciate you trying again, but I think it was pretty obvious that when you blew off dinner with my parents, you weren't going to stick around," Hannah said, raising a hand to stop Chuck before he could continue. It was good timing, too, because Chuck felt like he was threatening on the verge of tears, something he definitely didn't want to happen during a break-up. "Things – weird things – are going on in your life. It's pretty clear you need to sort them out before you can have a serious relationship with me. Or anyone, in fact."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Chuck gazed down at his shoes, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He hated to admit it, but what else was there to say? He wasn't a very good liar anyways. And when he did, it only made things worse.

"Hey, buck up," Hannah reached out and touched his arm, getting Chuck to look her in the eyes. She smiled at him. A soft, sweet smile. "When you finally get your life in order, call me. Maybe _then_ we can have a make-up dinner."

"But you're moving, aren't you? You even left the Buy More," Chuck said, frowning. Was she really throwing him a bone here? He was so sure this would be the last time he would ever see Hannah.

"Just to San Francisco." Hannah shrugged. "Got a job as an assistant director at a computer software company. It'll be a long drive, but at least it's in-state. But it pays more than being a Buy More Green Shirt. You are _so_ overqualified there, you know that, right, Chuck?"

"Yeah, I know," Chuck gave her a sheepish smile. He couldn't tell her that he was practically cemented to the Buy More ever since the CIA barged in on his life. Any ideas of getting a promotion or better job were erased when the General Beckman had Castle (an extensive network of halls and HQ to the Bartowski team) built right under the building. "I guess you could say I'm sort of attached to the job. If I left, that place would crumble to pieces."

Well, that wasn't a lie. Big Mike even assured him of that point on several different occasions. It was one of the few things Chuck took pride in.

"All right then," Hannah smirked, backing away towards her car. She gave him a small nod and a smile, saying, "Well, good luck. You know my cell phone number."

"Yeah, have fun in San Francisco," Chuck waved as she departed in her car, her lights disappeared around the corner. The street was quiet when the engine faded into the night, and Chuck sighed to himself, heading back inside with shoulders hunched. Well, he may no longer have a girlfriend, but at least Hannah didn't completely hate him.

The effort left him mentally and emotionally exhausted. Actually, the whole week had done that to him, and Chuck wasn't sure how he was going to handle the next mission, which would invariably come up. They always had on every week or so. He still wasn't sure if _this_ one was over, yet.

He didn't want to think that Sarah had told Shaw her real name – even though Chuck had known her longer, trusted her more. Chuck felt betrayed, in a way, although how could he blame Sarah who she told her secrets to? Shaw was the real spy, not Chuck. Shaw could handle anything, but Chuck needed his ass saved every other mission. He screamed at the big guys, hid in gun fights, and let himself get captured on numerous occasions. The only reason he was still alive right now because of the Intersect in his head – sometimes the bad guys wanted it, sometimes it gave Chuck just the right skill to exit the situation alive.

Sometimes Chuck wondered if that was what all Sarah ever cared about in him. The CIA certainly didn't care that he was a person, with feelings and dreams and his own opinion on how things should be run around here. As long as he gave them what they wanted, nothing else mattered. Chuck wondered when crossing the line would finally get him court-martialed.

Chuck headed back into the apartment complex. Captain Awesome clapped him on the back, said, "Better luck next time, bro," and headed back to his own place with Ellie. Chuck's apartment was entirely empty when he returned – the table had been cleared and Sarah mysteriously disappeared.

He camped out in his room, eating leftover meatloaf and watching old Hitchcock movies. Chuck wanted desperately to talk to someone, to vent, but every time he picked up the phone, Morgan refused to answer. He sighed, wondering what it would take to get Morgan back. What else besides lies could he tell his best friend? Lies have done him no good – more of them would just push Morgan farther away.

Then Chuck wondered: what if he actually told the truth?


End file.
